Vokun'Grohiik
by Master Hexer
Summary: What a shitstorm! After being chased into Skyrim for what he did, Daedhrogon was captured by the Empire who he thought would help him, but he merely exchanged one death for another. Fan-bloody-tastic. Now he's been thrown into the big, bad world with nothing but a kick up his arse and a name that used to mean something. How will he survive when everyone hates him?
1. Chapter 1

_Hello everyone! My name is Kyle Hexer, or just Hex if you like, and I'm here with another story. I'm honestly bored out of my brain right now and have no idea what to say in this A/N, but I'll try to give you the run down. I wrote this cuse I'm bored, I want to, and mostly for a bit of writing practice. Its the story of my Skyrim character and all his adventures, with a bit of sass, stupidity, anger issues, sarcasm, and vulgar language thrown into the mix. A bit of a serious, but also for shits and giggles story. I honestly dont know how often I will update this, if at all, that mostly is determined by how much people like it, and I edit as I write and only skim-read afterwards to check for any major mistakes. So sorry if there are spelling errors, I tried my best... sorta. I'm planning to include all sorts of adventures and quests in this, along with the DLC content. If you want me to keep going, a review would be nice. And if you like, mention any quest you would like to see him go through and I might add it in at some point. But I will decide how my character handles it mostly, feel free to mention any funny happenings that you would like to see._

 _Warnings for this story. Lots of sass and sarcasm, as well as a whole lot of swearing and bad language. My character is quite vulgar with his choice of words and swears a lot. May also include mature content, sexual themes and such, but will only hint to it in the beginning of the story. Will only include detailed smut if I get enough people asking._

 _Anyway, enjoy the shitstorm of Daedhrogon's life since ariving in Skyrim. Dont forget to like and review!_

 _._

 _Chapter I._

 _._

 _Well isn't this an utterly perfect pile of shit._

Being painfully jostled awake with a pounding headache ensured that Daedhrogon's morning wasn't going to be a pleasant one. Made worse by the rolling carriage that made his stomach flip. He wanted to throw up.

 _What in the name of Akatosh happened?_

His eyes hurt, his ribs hurt, his stomach hurt. Hell, just about everything hurt! Especially his wrists, head, stomach and even his goddam arse. This disgusting carriage was giving him painful splinters.

He didn't want to open his eyes, but he forced himself to, only because the bindings around his wrists were cutting into his hands. Where was he, why was he tied up, and why was he cold? What happened to his armour, his clothes? Where was he going?

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a Nord man, also tied up, wearing the distinctive Stormcloak cuirass. Oh that was just fabulous. He was captured along with some Stormcloak rebels. This wouldn't end well…

The man driving the carriage was in Imperial garb, a soldier no doubt. Maybe he had a chance to get out of… whatever it is that was going to happen. He hoped the imperials would help him.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Said the Stormcloak.

Daedhrogon turned his gaze to the other man beside the rebel. Unremarkable and dirty. He paid the man no mind.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Indeed. If that ambush hadn't been there on the road, Daedhrogon could have slipped right over the border and away before anyone realised what he had done, what had happened. He had almost made his escape, but here he was. The two other males spoke for a few minutes while Daedhrogon tried to get a sense of his surroundings. It was cold, and they were passing through a forest, over hills and mountains. Somewhere in Skyrim, definitely…

"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." Came the Stormcloak's voice.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" cried the Horse Thief.

Now he turned his attention to the third man in the carriage, right next to him. Indeed, it was rebellion leader. The bastard who claimed to be the rightful ruler of Skyrim, who murdered the former High King. And made life a living hell for all those involved in the civil war – be it either because they were soldiers, or they were commoners just living in the wrong places, caught in the middle of a battleground.

Ulfric looked over at the three of them, first the Horse Thief, then the Rebel, and then at him. Daedhrogon bared his teeth and snarled. He had no love or respect for the Stormcloaks, especially their leader. Ulfric glared back at him, clearly displeased at what he saw.

And why would he be pleased? Ulfric was seated right next to a High Elf, the same kind of people who made up the Thalmor, who had captured and tortured him. And true to the stigma, Daedhrogon was a soldier for the Aldmeri Dominion – well, former soldier, he supposed. Why would the rebellion leader like him? At least the feeling was mutual. And thank the gods the man was gagged, he didn't want to hear the man rant and curse him simply for being there. The man had quite a Voice if the rumours were true.

The carriage continued on, towards a walled village adorned with imperial banners. It looked more like a fort than a village. Soldiers were everywhere, including a few Thalmor, thank the gods! Maybe they would help. They looked out for their own kind… right?

"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Daedhrogon shouldn't be here, wherever they were. It was obviously an execution, and they were all being sent to the block. Maybe if he told the elves who he was, who he worked for, who his father was, he would be spared of this fate. He hoped.

The carriages moved and finally stopped. He had a perfect view of the chopping block, and the headsman who would carry out the executions. Some Thalmor were there, but they made no move, not helping, not even letting on if they had even seen him.

One at a time, their names were called. Ulfric was first, then the Rebel named Ralof, then the Horse Thief Lokir. The coward ran in a desperate attempt to save himself, but still got himself killed with an arrow in the back of the neck, the fool.

"Anyone else feel like running?" dared the Imperial Captain. The man holding the list looked up and finally noticed him. "Wait. You there. Step forward. Who are you?"

Daedhrogon stared defiantly at the man, steeling his resolve before answering. "My name is Daedhrogon." The imperial looked confused at the name, most likely he had no idea of its meaning.

He was known as 'Shadow Wolf' among his elven kind. Not that these idiots would know. Stupidly ignorant. But it mattered not, not when he would soon be dead. The wolf had ended his last hunt, and the shadows had failed him when he came here. He didn't deserve his name at his time of death.

"You're not with the Thalmor are you?" he asked, mostly to himself.

"I'm a soldier for the Dominion. I'm sure there has been some kind of mistake."

But the imperial didn't listen to him, he merely turned to face the captain and speak with her about his fate. He was sent to the chopping block, no questions asked. No one was there to say otherwise. None of the elves stepped forward to claim him. He was alone.

He wasn't going to escape this, he was going to die here. His luck and fortune had finally ran out.

Had he managed to piss someone off so bad that they wanted him dead? Did he somehow offend one of the Aedra, or gods forbid, a Daedra? Maybe he shouldn't have freed that prisoner, maybe he should have just followed orders and tortured the man instead. But no, he _just had_ to make a stand against that Thalmor when he didn't have a plan. His foolishness would surely get him killed. Five days of running hadn't ensured his escape, he merely exchanged one death for another.

A priestess of Arkay said their final rights, before she was interrupted and the executions began. Too soon, he was called up, but a strange, distant roar echoed through the mountain. It didn't deter the executioner, and he was forced forward, and onto his knees. Sticky blood covered the chopping block, smearing all over his face and ragged clothes. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

His only regret was that he wouldn't get to see Ulfric's head roll before he would follow suit.

The axeman prepared to swing…

A black shape took flight behind the watchtower with a mighty roar.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" screamed General Tullius.

"Dragon!"

Time seemed to slow down, and speed up at the same time, meteors and hellfire rained down on them, knocking people down to the ground either stunned, crushed, or burned. Someone gabbed his arm, and he was pulled along through the crashing sounds and falling debris. He was mercilessly pulled away from the chaos and towards the closest watchtower, barely being able to see through the smoke in his eyes. Ulfric was inside the tower before he was, damn bastard must have put his own safety above everyone else's, whereas all of the Imperial soldiers were valiantly fighting outside. Someone yelled and told him to go up to the top of the tower, he obeyed and made a run for it, leaving the Jarl where he was and not giving a single damn about the man's safety.

The massive, hulking black dragon did not give up its relentless attack, and burst its enormous head through the wall and charred everything and everyone to a crisp before it left to find more victims.

Daedhrogon looked down, where there was an opening in a building below him, leading back down to the ground, and closer to escape. He jumped, hit the ground hard, and continued to run. He went past soldiers and archers firing upon the beast, as if it would do anything. Mages shot flames and ice spikes towards it, but nothing seemed to affect it.

Ahead of him, the Rebel, Ralof, and the Imperial soldier, Hadvar crashed into one another, arguing about their escape. Within seconds, they both ran in different directions, with Daedhrogon following the Imperial. He wasn't going to put his fate in the hands of a Nord who would without a doubt hate elves for merely existing, he would rather trust in the soldier, even if he was the one who sent him to the block.

So they ran, escaping the horrific destruction wrecked upon them by the dragon, and into Helgen Keep.

The barracks were empty, everyone being already outside and risking their pointless lives. All the better for the two of them, since they could take whatever they needed. Roars echoed through the stone walls, reminding them of the dragon attack outside.

Hadvar cut his bindings loose so he could move his arms around and get the feeling back in them. After gods knew how long of being in that carriage he was thankful to be able to feel his fingers again.

"Have a look though those chests for armour and weapons, we are going to need them."

Daedhrogon went to the closest chest and looked inside. Imperial armour and an iron sword. Tacky, but they would do. So he pulled them out and started to put the armour on. Hadvar just _had_ to choose that moment to look over at him as he pulled off the ragged shirt and started putting the armour on, loosening the buckles so it fit. Damn thing was too tight.

"Quit ogling! We need to find a way out of this burning shithole. So get your head in the game so we can come out of this alive, and _then_ you stare all you like!" snapped the High Elf. While he already knew he looked handsome, he didn't need a distracted soldier in his company.

The soldier finally snapped out of it once he strapped the blade to hip and started walking off. The two went down hallways, fighting Stormcloaks and picking up things on the way that could be of value. Further inside the tower, they found the torture room, with two imperials there, completely oblivious to the fact that a dragon waged war above them. While they all spoke together in a group, Daedhrogon snooped about the place, grabbing anything that could be of value, including a few scant pieces of gold, lock picks, potions, and even a dagger. Small knives had saved is life on many occasions, so he wasn't going to pass on one now, even if it was horrible.

He and Hadvar moved on, battling more Stormcloak soldiers as they progressed, until they made it to the caves underneath the keep, barely escaping being crushed as the dragons fury carried on even down here. After what seemed like forever, after battling giant spiders and even a bear, he saw sunlight again, and the forest and trees.

They stayed in that spot long enough until they were certain the dragon had left for good, before they jogged together down the road to the closest town. After what seemed like hours, they made it. A little village by a gushing river. Riverwood it was apparently called. Hadvar invited Daedhrogon to his uncle's home to help him get on his feet. The Blacksmith was very welcoming and let him take a few supplies to last some time, but he would need more, and better equipment the longer he stayed in Skyrim.

They spoke about the dragon attack at Helgen, and how they managed to escape death from fiery jaws. Eventually, the adrenaline from the day settled down along with the conversation. They were both tired and worn out.

"So where are you from?" asked Hadvar. The elf looked up at him from his tankard of ale. "I'm from Elsweyr." He answered.

"What's a High Elf doing living there?" he continued. Daedhrogon sighed. The man looked like he was going to continue prying. "I was born there, raised with the Khajiit. But I don't live there now, since I'm here. Obviously."

"You said before that you were an Aldmeri soldier. Do you work for the Thalmor?"

"No. I support the Dominion, but not the Thalmor rule. I might have to answer to them, but I don't always like it. You got a better chance of getting me to worship Talos than bending my knee willingly to the Thalmor and all their ideals."

Yeah, believe it or not, not all Altmer were Thalmor, and not all of them supported the governing body of the Dominion. Those stupid stereotypes created by the Nords were simply that. Stereotypes. So he didn't fit the mould of what was considered to be a 'normal' elf, who gave a damn? He grew up with the Khajiit for Akatosh's sake. If he had to admit, he was more like one of the cat-men anyway, instead of your typical snobbish elf.

"Well, what are you planning on doing next? Return to the Aldmeri Dominion? Go back to your old home in Elsweyr?"

"I have no home in Elsweyr anymore, my Elven family left many years ago to fight in the Great War, my Khajiit family died out decades ago. Shit like that tends to happen when you have an Altmer's century's long lifespan." His tone became cold, signalling that he wanted no more questions on home or family. They were a sore spot, and he wouldn't speak of them with a mere soldier.

With that, they decided to retire for the night in the Blacksmith's house. Daedhrogon barely got any sleep at all, contemplating what he would do the next day. It always paid to be prepared, even when faced with uncertainty. So he made a plan: ask the smith if he could help around the forge to see if he could get some better fitting armour and a better weapon, then go over to the town trader and stock up on whatever supplies he could get. He didn't have much gold, but he hoped that the meagre stuff he had would be enough to feed him until he could make it to the next city. If he had to resort to manual labour, he wouldn't like it, but he would do it if it meant survival for the next few days.

So the next morning, when he woke at first light along with the smith, he followed him outside to ask about helping. The Nord was glad for the extra assistance and got him working before the rest of the town was awake. By the time the sun was well and truly up, Daedhrogon had crafted his own set of armour that actually fit his tall frame, thank the gods, and had a much better dagger to use out in the wilds. It was no elven sword, but it would do.

So, fitted out in his new gear, he wandered over to the traders, determined to get as much gold as he could for the imperial armour and few scant belongings he managed to scrounge up from the day before. Overall, it wasn't much, but enough to make sure he would survive for a few more days.

He paid little attention to what the man and his sister were arguing about, but filed away what little information he did hear. They apparently lost some solid gold item of theirs when bandits raided the shop. A claw of some sorts… didn't matter much at all.

He even bought himself a journal and writing materials to record his dealings with people. Old habits die hard, he thought. His father had taught him to keep a record of everything he did, just in case anything happened. He could recall information back easily, or have evidence of an alibi if his… _less than honest_ dealings got him into trouble.

Within the hour, the High Elf was off, out of the town towards the Hold capital of Whiterun, with a message, and the intentions of surviving even longer than that tiny village would allow.

By nightfall, he had made it, but was so exhausted he could barely stand. Sighing, he trudged over to the inn, the Bannered Mare, for food and a bed. He was forced to count his coin carefully before purchasing anything, even if the room was only ten gold, he was careful not to go overboard. In his past, he had earnt enough gold that he didn't need to think about how much he was spending, but now, what he had in his tiny coin purse was all he had. His meagre means to survive.

Dejectedly, he asked the inn keeper if there was anything he could do in the morning to earn more gold. She told him that he could always go outside and chop up wood for the fire if he needed gold, other than that, there was nothing else.

Silently, he thanked the gods that he didn't have to resort to _other means_ for gold. He wasn't _that_ desperate.

He quietly thanked the inn keeper for the bed and meal, and retired up to his rented room. He had only just taken off his armour and boots before he practically fell onto the soft bed and fell asleep.

.

The next morning, Daedhrogon slept in to try and regain some of his strength and energy. But as the villagers slowly trickled in for their morning meal, he couldn't stay asleep for any longer. The smell of roasting meat and fresh produce tickled his nose and drew him up and out of bed. He was practically drooling from the smell as he put his armour back on and climbed down the stairs.

Most Nords looked at him funny as he went passed, obviously not liking the appearance of the High Elf. They grumbled as he walked passed them, muttering things like 'bloody Thalmor' and 'snobbish elf scum' under their breath. Daedhrogon growled lowly to himself, but chose to ignore them in favour of food.

A Redguard woman served him some food in exchange for a few gold pieces and left him be, so to serve other customers. As soon as the elf was finished his meagre breakfast, he went outside to find a way to earn back somevof the gold he spent.

He returned a few hours later with sore hands and a sling full of firewood for the inn keeper, who paid him a good, honest amount for his work. He hadn't been siting there long, after only just buying himself a drink, when a Nord woman strode up to him, itching for a fight.

"Hey, soft-gut! Your kind aren't welcome here in Whiterun, get lost!" she said loudly, catching the attention of the other patrons sitting around the inn.

Daedhrogon slowly turned to look at her, clad head to toe in steel plate armour. She must have thought she stood a chance, simply because he was only in simple leather armour.

"I haven't done anything to you, so why are you bothering me?" he asked her calmly. His voice was low and calculated, almost daring her to step out of line.

"High Elf scum. You Thalmor have no place in the world, so why don't you just leave?" she spat. "Go find some helpless sop to accuse of being a heretic and fuck off!"

Then she made the horrible mistake of smacking the bottom of his tankard right into his face. The liquid splashed all over his face, into his hair and over the front of his armour. Daedhrogon froze in shock, as did everyone in the inn.

When the elf opened his eyes, they were alight with fury. And with a growl that could put a Khajiit to shame, Daedhrogon shot up out of his seat, sending it toppling to the floor, and stood right up against the woman who dared insult him like that.

He growled and bared his teeth as he looked down at the woman, who refused to back down even as he towered over her by at least a head.

"You might want to think about taking that back before things get ugly. Not only have you spilt my drink, but you've ruined my armour, and pissed me off. Stand down now before you get hurt." He growled.

"I don't think so, soft-gut!" she yelled. Her fist swung right for his jaw, which he dodged in the last seconds. His blood boiled at the impending fight, and when she swung again, he blocked it and hit back, hitting her in the stomach with an uppercut.

The female Nord bellowed in anger and swung at him again, aiming for the weak points in his armour. Daedhrogon hit back, and soon, a full on bar brawl commenced. The Elf was hit a few times in the chest, stomach and head, but the Nord wasn't spared either, getting punched mercilessly by Daedhrogon's powerful strikes.

By the time the woman crashed to the ground defeated, her armour was splattered with blood, and she had a few scratch marks marring her face. One of the perks of being raised by Khajiit, the Elf thought, was that you get taught how to use your nails like claws.

Daedhrogon had numerous bruises and sore spots from the Nord's punches, but all in all, he came out better than she did, despite all the pain. But that didn't mean he had won everyone's respect for beating the warrior, in fact, almost everyone looked at him angrily and with contempt. Angry at everything that had transpired, Daedhrogon grabbed his knapsack of supplies, rightened the toppled over bar stool and dropped a few coins on the bar table.

"Sorry 'bout the mess." He grumbled before stomping out the door. He had business to attend elsewhere anyway.

Trying to get away from the glares of everyone, he jogged up the steps to the Jarl's castle, Dragonsreach. One glare directed at the guards and they let him pass, but once he made it inside, he was confronted by a Dunmer woman, demanding who he was and why he had come. He simply replied, but with an air of contempt that he had information about the dragon attack at Helgen, and he was allowed to pass.

After a brief discussion with the Jarl, he was directed towards the court wizard and told about a job. He didn't intend to go delving into a dangerous ruin on mere rumour, but as soon as gold was brought into question, he relented. He was too dependent at this point and simply couldn't pass up the opportunity even if he wanted to, so with a sigh, he accepted the job.

.

A day and a half later, the elf trudged back up the steps of Dragonsreach, heavily limping on his left leg and using a stolen iron sword as a crutch. Scratches, bruises, nasty cuts and spider bites marred his skin all over, and he looked like he hadn't slept for a week. With every step, he was dripping blood, mostly from his injured leg and right arm. The last bloody Draugr got him pretty bad on his arm, and it took all his effort not to scream from the pain.

"The gold had better be worth it…" he mumbled under his breath. Angrily, he climbed up the gods-forsaken steps to the Temple of Kynareth to hopefully get something for his injuries. After lying on the uncomfortable stone bed for a few short hours and drinking a few healing potions, which took a massive cut out of his coin purse, he could walk properly again and started the rest of his trip up to the Jarl's palace.

"After I get paid for all this crap," he said to himself, "I'm going to go back to that inn and rent that room for a few days and not move until I'm back to normal. I deserve a weeks' worth of sleep after all this shit."

But sadly, he wouldn't get the chance. After angrily dropping the Dragonstone Tablet on Farengar's desk and demanding payment, he was dragged up to see the Jarl, who had been informed about a dragon attack on the Western Watchtower. The man asked that the Elf go with Irrileth to deal with the dragon.

Daedhrogon practically howled in irritation. He had already met with one dragon and barely lived through that ordeal, he didn't want to do it again! But alas, he was dragged into it anyway and followed the Dunmeri woman down the steps of Whiterun to meet with a squadron of guards, ready to fight the beast despite their fears. With a rallying speech and battlecries, they raced out the front gate and towards the Western Watchtower.

 _The gold will be worth it._ He thought.

The small fortress lay in ruins, fires blazing everywhere with a few injured and dead guards lying about. No doubt a dragon had been here; Daedhrogon just hoped it wouldn't come back.

But when a fearsome roar echoed from the sky, and thundering wings signalled the arrival of the dragon, the High Elf cursed loudly. Of course it would be back! The Aedra must have a grudge against him, he thought.

Already tired from his last so called _adventure,_ dragged out into a battle that he had no real reason to be in to fight a gods-damned DRAGON of all things! Some almighty being must hate him. Who was it, he wondered? Did Akatosh have something against him? Was Stendarr showing him a twisted version of mercy for what he did before having to escape to Skyrim? Was it Talos who was playing around with him because the Thalmor outlawed his worship? Who in the name of the eight Divines had something against him that they would make him deal with _two dragons for crying out loud_?!

The silently ranting Altmer was almost roasted alive by the dragons flames as he stood there, arguing with himself. Breaking out of his stupor with a yelled 'Shit!' he ran right for the tower, unslinging his pilfered hunting bow from his shoulders. The top of the tower had no cover, but a perfectly unhindered view of the hulking, scaly beast as it flew overhead and attacked the guards below.

Selecting an arrow from the quiver on his back, he took aim as the dragon swooped down to breathe its deadly fire towards those battling it. Daedhrogon calmed himself as best he could, and let his body go through the motions of aiming the bow. His muscles stretched, his breathing steadied, the fletching of the arrow touching the side of his face.

He aimed. The dragon dived. He fired.

The dragon screamed.

His steel arrow piercing its left eye, the beast lurched, and crashed to the ground in a flurry of wings. It was back on its feet in an instant, using its folded wings as forelegs to move around. With its one good eye, it searched around for him, finding him on the top of the tower. The dragon roared and prepared a fiery blast, the elf realising in a split second that he had no cover.

Heart beating like a war drum in his chest, Daedhrogon grabbed another arrow, took aim, and fired again. The movement took barely a second. Thank the gods he had been trained by the Bosmer of Valenwood when he was younger, or he would be cooked alive by the fiery inferno. The second arrow buried itself in the dragons other eye, its breath of flames cut off by its agonised shriek.

Before it could shoot its deadly flames at him, Daedhrogon raced down the stairs of the tower, briefly stopping to see the beast blundering around below him through a break in the wall.

He wondered, just for a moment, if he could take it from surprise from above. After all, did a dragon, master of the sky, ever look up to check for enemies? Theory dictated the answer be: no.

Daedhrogon grabbed his sword and dagger, steeling his resolve and taking a few steps back to get a running start. Then he charged, and jumped right out of the window of the tower.

He soared through the air for but a mere moment before gravity took over, and he was falling, falling, right on top of the dragons back. He grunted with the force of the landing, desperately trying to stay on and get air back into his pained lungs.

The beast roared in anger and thrashed around, trying to dislodge him, but the elf held on for dear life, sinking his blade into the creatures hide. Snapping jaws swung around to bite him in half, and he barely managed to jam his sword into the beasts mouth before he was eaten. It reared back in anger, and wrenched the sword out of his grasp, stomping around in the hopes to throw him off.

Daedhrogon was left with only a dagger to save himself, while the dragon thrashed and screamed bloody murder. With a thundering roar, the Altmer grabbed the dragons horn to stabilise himself, and drove the dagger deep within the creatures damaged eye socket, right into its brain. The beast shuddered and spluttered before its limbs gave out and it crashed to the ground in a dead and bloody heap.

He tumbled to the ground with an agonised moan, grasping at his hurt limbs and ribs, desperately willing the pain to go away. He couldn't move, and no one dared go near him in case the monster wasn't dead.

But when the dragon's flesh slowly burned to ash, leaving nothing but its skeletal remains behind, all the remaining guards backed up in fear and horror, the only one not able to move was the elf, as he lay next to the dragons burning carcass.

Bright, blinding, golden light erupted from the creature and flew around Daedhrogon's prone form, engulfing him in the warm glow before being absorbed into his golden skin. He gasped in shock, and then in pleasure as the dragons soul caressed his wounds, numbing all the pain and refreshing him with vital energy.

He felt like he had just woken up, completely refreshed, with the same buzz that a generous amount of wine and moon sugar gives you. It felt like ecstasy.

No drink or drug could ever have made him feel that good. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his century long life. Slowly, the feeling dissipated, leaving him feeling slightly hazy, and the pain of his injuries being nothing but a small ache.

He groaned, and slowly moved into a sitting position, gazing at the white bones of the dragon at his feet, the skull lying with its jaw agape too close to him. Slowly so he wouldn't get dizzy, he stood up and stabilised himself by leaning on a piece of the broken tower.

All the guards were gaping at him and the body of the dead beast, well, he assumed they were gaping, those stupid looking helmets completely hid their faces.

"What the fuck just happened?" cried one of them.

Daedhrogon shrugged, completely oblivious. "How the hell should I know?"

"You killed it… and devoured its soul…" muttered one of them. "You- you cant be… Dragonborn."

The elf laughed, but immediately stopped hen his ribs twinged in pain. "What the hell is a Dragonborn? And what do you mean 'I devoured its soul'? That's just stupid."

One of the guards without a full face helmet spoke up, the wonder and fear in his eyes easy to read. "I grew up hearing tales of the Dragonborn, the legendary dragon slayer. It was said he had the blood and soul of a dragon, but had the form of a mortal. They were said to be the only one who could kill dragons and Shout like they do."

Daedhrogon started laughing, clutching his side in pain. "Whatever skooma you're on must be good stuff if you came up with that!"

"How can you joke at a time like this, after everything that just happened?!" cried the Dunmer woman. "This is madness, all of it. Dragons, Dragonborn elves, its all madness, and the fact that you can joke about this makes it worse."

"Look," growled Daedhrogon, instantly sobering up. "I've had a pretty messed up couple of days, running for my life and whatnot. My life had already been screwed up before I even landed in this half frozen country, and now that all this Merethic Era shit has started happening – dragons and all that Dragonborn crap – I'm pretty sure that some Devine has a grudge, either against the world, or against me. So forgive me if I'm acting a little crazy to you. All this fucked up crap is making me lose my sanity!"

Done with his rant, he groaned and leant back against a large section of stone, trying to stop from crying out. The guards started talking to each other quite loudly about everything that had happened, and were talking about him. Daedhrogon tried to block out the sound, until one voice caught his attention and forced himself to listen.

"Legends say that the Dragonborn can Shout like a dragon can. If you really are the Dragonborn, then you should be able do it. Go on, try to Shout, that way we can see if this isn't some Devine joke."

Daedhrogon couldn't help but look at him with a sneer. Of course these Nords wouldn't be happy with the fact that an elf – a High Elf no less – had somehow taken the title of one of their fabled warriors. It must have been a joke of some sort, but the Altmer half wanted to piss them off and prove that he was what they thought, just to see the looks on their faces.

However, he was curious. Absorbing that dragons soul, they said it was, had done something to him. He could feel it. It felt like some part of him had just been revealed, like a new set of memories. He could feel a new type of energy, a different form of power than he was used to. Raw, undiluted power.

Was this what a dragon felt? The strength of a thousand men, a fiery inferno, wind under their wings and the sun on their back. He could feel the memories of the dragon whose soul he devoured. Tangibly feel them. One part stood out, a memory of the beast using its Voice to Shout an army down, without fire or ice, just the force of its roar.

He could hear that sound, echoing around inside his head like a war drum. The force of the roar. The sound got louder, filling his entire being until noting but that word was left in his mind.

Force.

His lungs ached and screamed at him in pain, his throat burned and his head pounded as a wave of pain and power washed over him. He wanted to scream from the feeling, it hurt so much! He wanted to shout to try and block out the pain in his lungs. He wanted to roar… and roar he did.

 _FUS!_

The force of his shout startled the soldiers around him, knocking a few to the ground with its intensity. His lungs burned, his throat felt raw, and he couldn't breathe. Irrileth openly gaped at him. The maskless guards looked at him in fear, horror, and revulsion. Their fears were true: an Altmer was the Dragonborn.

 _Well isn't this an utterly perfect pile of shit!_

"Ah, fuck me!"


	2. Chapter 2

Unable to handle the pain or the horror filled looks any longer, Daedhrogon started the long journey back to Whiterun to treat his wounds. He hobbled along using his borrowed sword as a crutch, seeing it couldn't be used as anything else. The damn thing had been rendered useless when it got lodged in the dragon's jaws. The front gates of the city were perhaps a kilometer and a half a way, but with his leg, it felt like much further.

He called upon his knowledge of healing, and conjured a spell. It was only a basic spell, but it would still work, so he fixed his leg and lungs as best he could to hopefully make the journey faster. He abandoned the worthless iron sword and set out at a slow walk, determined to get back to the city before a wolf showed up.

He was about half way there when the very earth shook. The ground rattled like an earthquake was upon them, and the sky thundered like a storm. Daedhrogon staggered to the ground just as something was heard all around him, sounding like it came down from the mountain, with all the ferocity of a dragon's roar.

 _DOVAHKIIN!_

"What in the name of Sithis was _that_?!" he cried. But no one was around to hear. Nothing answered him, not even whatever creature up on the mountain answered. Hopefully it isn't another damn dragon, he thought. But another roar never came. All was silent. So the elf continued on.

It took him three times as long to get back as it took to get to the watchtower, but finally, he made it. But then he groaned as he realised he had to climb up all those goddamn stairs.

"I can climb any tree just as good as a Bosmer or a Khajiit, but I _hate_ stairs." He sighed. Begrudgingly, he started walking up the steps to Dragonsreach.

At least the Jarl was happy to see him still alive, and was concerned for his injuries. But that was about the only good thing that came out of the evening. Jarl Balgruuf recognised the thundering echo from earlier, a summons to High Hrothgar from the Grey Beards. After listening to quite a lengthy speech about the service he did to Whiterun, blah blah blah, and how it was an honour to be summoned, or some shit like that, and that he was being awarded a Housecarl and the title of Thane, crap that he didn't need, he left with a huff and thoughts of returning to the Bannered Mare to get a drink or two. Unfortunately, his new Housecarl didn't like the idea of being left behind, so she tried to follow him.

"My Thane, wait for me!" cried the woman behind him. Daedhrogon sighed and stopped. "What is it?" he inquired.

"You are on a quest to High Hrothgar, correct? Going alone would be unwise. The lands of Skyrim are teaming with dangerous creatures. Allow me to come with you, as I have been sworn to do by the Jarl."

"Listen, I've only been in this country for a few days, and I'm completely broke and have nothing to my name, I barely have the means to look after myself. Having another person trailing after me is going to halve my chances of survival if I've got one eye on someone else. It would be much easier to look after myself and survive if I didn't have a follower." He said. Lydia scowled at him and began speaking again, only angry.

"I've sworn to be by your side as your Housecarl, and as this city's Thane, I can't just let you wander through the lands of Skyrim on your own. It's my duty to watch over you."

"I don't need someone slowing me down! I've survived well on my own before, and I can do it again, but having another person with me is just going to ruin that. Besides, the only reason I became a fucking Thane is because I killed a goddamn dragon. Any random Hold guard could have done the same with a lucky shot. You would do better staying here where you always have been, and helping Whiterun. I'm certainly not going to be doing any heroics in future if I can help it, therefore you are more suited to staying."

She huffed and drooped her shoulders. Slowly nodding, she looked up into the High Elf's eyes. "Fine, I'll stay here. I'm not happy about it, but I'll stay. Just don't go off making bad decisions."

Daedhrogon chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh Lydia, you don't know anything about me, do you? My whole life has been filled with bad decisions, and of course I'm going to make more." With that, he turned away and headed back to the Inn for a well-deserved drink. He just hopped that was the last dragon he would ever have to deal with, and the last clingy follower.

.

About a week later, Daedhrogon had, true to his word, made a few more bad decisions. The first decision that turned out to be a bad one was the decision to travel to Ivarstead, a shitty little town at the base of the mountain that didn't even have a trader or clean rooms at the Inn. The second bad decision was the one where he thought that carrying a man's delivery for him up the mountain was a good idea to earn extra coin. Turns out that carrying that bag of preserved food hurt his shoulders from the weight of it. There must have been enough food in there to last a month, and sadly, he couldn't have any. He was limited to his own survival foods, and that made him feel extremely shitty.

Climbing up the fucking mountain was the next bad decision. The armour he had on him – and consequently, the only clothing he had – didn't keep out the cold very well, no scratch that, it didn't retain heat at all! So all the way up the mountain, he was an elvish popsicle.

And to top it all off, his hate fuelled decision to take on a frost troll – a goddamn _frost troll_ – was the icing on the cake. He was barely able to set the bloody thing on fire before his fingers froze. So thanks to the combined effort of three days' bad decisions, there he was, at the top of the Throat of the World, freezing his arse off with many cuts and bruises and gashes all over from that goddamn troll, with frozen blood caking his skin. He was a goddamn mess.

 _This trip had better be worth it_ , he thought. _My legs are killing me_.

Maybe he should have brought Lydia along… no, that would have been bad decision number five. He would have had to share his meagre rations with her, then he wouldn't have made it even half way, yet alone up the mountain before they starved. He worked better alone anyway.

He didn't bother knocking, and pushed open the large iron door to go inside. Sweet relief washed over him as his body began to heat up from the fires within the room. It was nice and toasty in here. But his arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. Four old men walked out into the cavernous room, all cloaked in thick, flowing robes.

"Sorry to disturb you all, but it's really frigin cold out there." He said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. None of the robed men made a comment, or any facial expression regarding the cold, or his condition. Although, after a moment, one of them stepped forward.

"Greetings, I am Master Arngeir, one of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. I take it you are answering our summons." He said.

"Uh, I'm actually here to have a few questions answered. About a week ago, I killed a dragon and, according to the guards, I ate its soul. They kept mentioning a title, Dragonborn, and I want to know what it means."

"The Dragonborn is a mortal born with the blood and soul of a dragon." he answered.

The old man continued to explain everything, and with every new revelation, Daedhrogon shook his head.

"There's no way I can be the Dragonborn!" he cried. "A High Elf, a Nordic hero? Is this some Devine's idea of a joke? This isn't right, I can't be it!"

"But you are, don't you see? The blood of a dragon runs through you. You have a natural mastery of the way of the Voice that very few people in history have had. Dragonborn have always been able to do this, and each of them have had important roles to play in history. You have a very important destiny ahead of you."

Daedhrogon sighed in defeat. There was nothing he could do. This new development was out of his hands, and the best thing he could do now was learn how to face it, when his destiny inevitably rears its ugly head.

He spent the next few days in High Hrothgar learning and mastering new Shouts, determined to not let them be masters of him. If he was to have this power, _he_ would be the master of _it_. He very quickly mastered the use of his first Shout, and just as easily mastered a new one, and soon, the Greybeards had no more to teach.

As his final assignment, they saw it fit to send him deep into an old ruin for an artefact long lost to them. Daedhrogon wasn't entirely happy about being sent on another quest, but he eventually relented, following the frozen path back to Ivastead, and then back to Whiterun.

There, he spent a few more days working his fingers to the bone for some meagre coin. Eventually, he had enough to pay the carriage driver to take him to the closest Hold capital. Stupid overinflated prices…

At least the Inn in Morthal wasn't too bad. But the people did seem to be worried about something. After paying for his room and evening meal, he sat at the closest table and beckoned over the Inn keeper.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" the lady asked.

"Actually, yes. I've been wondering what it is that's going on with this town. The people seem anxious because of something." Daedhrogon asked over his plate of salmon.

"Hmm, you're probably hearing things about what happened to Hroggar's wife and child. Their house burned down not too long ago, and the poor woman and kid were burned to death. Most people believe that Hroggar himself started the fire, because he moved in with another woman the next day."

Daedhrogon thought for a moment. "That sounds mildly suspicious. Has the Jarl done anything to investigate these rumours?" he asked.

"The Jarl has been trying to quell the anger and suspicion of having a wizard here in Morthal, I don't really think she has time to investigate. But if you are interested, maybe you could go and check it out, and see what you can find. I'm sure the Jarl will pay for your services. You look like a very capable warrior, so you are sure to be able to deal with whatever nasties you come across."

At the mention of gold, he was sold with the idea. He didn't overly like the idea about investigating some incident with a man going after another woman, but it honestly didn't seem like a dangerous task. And if the Jarl was willing to reward him handsomely for it… he supposed he could spare a day or so to check out what happened.

So the next morning, after stocking up on food and potions and chatting up the townsfolk, he paid a visit to Jarl Ravencrone. The old woman seemed quite nice and was very respectful, he instantly took a liking to her. The woman politely asked if he would be an unbiased third party and investigate the rumours. He was swiftly on his way after bidding her a good day.

But once he got to the burned out house, things started turning pare shaped. He had only just managed to hold in a loud 'Holly fuck!' when he saw the ghost of the dead child. He didn't know if you could be a bad influence on a ghost, but it probably wasn't a good idea to find out.

The poor girl didn't even seem to know that she was dead. But at least she was somewhat helpful, offering to tell him who started the fire if he played a game with her. Didn't seem too difficult. This wacky little mission would be over within a few hours.

But Helgi didn't want to start playing their game of hide and seek until nightfall, so the _other one_ could join them. That was quite suspicious, but if it was just a single person, Daedhrogon was sure he could handle them. He wasn't a soldier in the Dominion for nothing – he could fight and protect himself. And perhaps the person who would show up was the person who started the fire. Easy gold for easy work.

Until nightfall, Daedhrogon helped out at the lumber mill and hunted in the marshes, bringing back enough venison for the inn to make a lot of good food. His dinner was on the house for his generosity. And thankfully, the mead was cheaper here than it was in Whiterun. Although he'd kill for some good quality wine right now…

But he kept his plans in mind, and his head clear. He didn't drink too much so that he would end up getting drunk – not like he had the coin to pay for it anyway. He had a ghost to find.

At roughly ten thirty at night, he set out into the gloom. Soldiers marched up and down the road, but mostly ignored him as he made it to the burnt out house. Now, if he was a small child playing hide and seek, where would he hide? The docks maybe? There were plenty of hiding places near the boats, so maybe she went there. But after half an hour of searching the skiffs, he didn't find her. Only a few annoying nirnroots who's glow threw him off.

Where else would she be hiding? Maybe the edges of the marshes. It was as good as any place to check next. But after an hour of that, he was ready to quit and go back to bed. Stupid mud and reeds kept tripping him, and the number of times he had tripped while looking for her was numbered at five.

Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. Helgi might have been a small child, but she was also a ghost. Now, the better question to ask himself was where would a ghost hide?

The cemetery.

 _Of course_. He could have slapped himself for his stupidity. Quickly, he made his way back to Morthal, stabbing his dagger in the head of a waking mudcrab as he passed. Half drenched and legs slicked with mud, he went around the sleeping village to get to the town's cemetery. There! An unearthed coffin. A child's coffin. This must have been where she was buried, and probably her chosen hiding spot. Tiredly, he walked up towards it. But he hadn't gotten very far before something jumped out at him.

He was barely able to draw his dagger before the woman was on him. She was clumsy with her own weapon, but Daedhrogon had other things to worry about. Her eyes were glowing with a crimson light, and her fangs glinted in the moonlight when she hissed at him.

 _Vampire._

Fighting a vampire in the middle of the night wasn't something that he wanted to do for long, since the night was their domain. The woman hacked and slashed with her blade, lunging for him and trying to knock him over. His mud covered feet were uneven on the marshy ground and he nearly slipped a few times when he tried to step back out of range.

The woman was growing angrier by the second, pissed at the fact she wasn't able to sink her fangs into his flesh, so she got faster and more desperate as the blood lust took a hold of her. Daedhrogon had to finish her now, before she managed to bite him! So he lunged at her, and she tripped backwards. The two of them fell onto the childs unearthed coffin, Daedhrogon on top, and before she could move, he jammed his dagger in between her ribs, using his heavier weight to hold her down while she shuddered.

Finally, the vampire stiled, her eyes glazing over. Daedhrogon panted as he stood, covered in mud, shit and blood. _Could this get any worse?_ Well, at least he found the ghost. And, apparently, the wife of a man who ran off ages ago.

The poor man stumbled across him, dirty and covered in blood, lying on top of his wife with a dagger in hand, so _of course_ he went hysterical. After finally calming the man down, he wept for his dead wife, crying uncontrollably when he discovered her true undead form.

The high elf left the man crying over her cold body while he went back to the inn. He desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes. And rest too. Fighting vampires took a lot of energy out of you. Unfortunately, the Inn in Morthal didn't have a bathing room, or anything close to it, just a washbasin in the main room tucked into the corner. He was forced to stand there in full view while he got the blood off his skin and armour. At this time of night, only the redguard inn keeper was up, and a somewhat attractive woman in one of the most revealing outfits Daedhrogon had ever seen. It must have been Alva, the woman who Hroggar moved in with the day after his wife and child were killed. He kept one eye on her suspiciously, with a gut feeling that she wasn't as innocent as she seemed – completely ignoring the skimpy outfit that indicated _no_ , she wasn't so innocent in _that particular_ regard.

The woman kept giving him looks from across the room. A couple of cautious looks, like she could see the danger he posed, and a few lustful looks when he had to remove his tunic to clean it and himself. It sent shivers down his spine, creeping him out. Eventually, Daedhrogon stumbled back into his rented bed and fell asleep. He didn't get up until a few hours after dawn.

Next thing on the agenda, investigate Alva's house, where Hroggar and Alva were living together. There had to be something in there regarding how the fire started. So, as stealthy as a Khajiit, he waited in the shadows until he saw Hroggar leave, and crept inside. Thankfully, when you grow up in Elsweyr with the Khajiit, you tend to learn a thing or two about breaking into locks, so it barely took him a minute to trip the tumblers and sneak inside.

He quickly searched the room, checking in the cupboards and chest for anything that might shed some light on the mystery. But even after checking the entire house, he found nothing. Except for the basement. He hadn't checked there yet. He crept down the stairs, carefully stepping as to not trigger any squeaking boards, he opened the door to the basement…

And immediately clamped a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't make another sound. There, in the centre of the room, asleep in a coffin, was Alva. Talk about wandering into a vampire's lair! She hadn't even moved when he snuck in, so that was good. The question was, what to do now? Tucked under her arm was a small, red journal, practically begging to be taken. If there was any secrets hidden away in answering what happened to Hroggar's wife and child, it would be in there. But it was in the clutches of a vampire, for Aedra's sake! What was he going to do?

On the one hand, if this was a vampire, the situation couldn't be left on its own, the Jarl had to know. Vampires were dangerous. On the other hand… Vampires were dangerous! If he tried to take the journal, and she woke up, he would have to fight her down here, and in such a small space, she could easily trap him in a corner and bite him. He would be a dead man if he was caught.

Daedhrogon took a deep – but quiet – breath. He had to get that journal. Mustering the knowledge of every skill ever taught to him about stealth, he slipped up to the sleeping vampire. He just hoped that his pickpocketing skills were up to scratch. With his heart beating heavily in his chest, he reached out for the book, and very, very carefully, pried it out of her grip.

Almost… There, he had it!

He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave. His foot slipped and he crashed to the ground in a heap. Candles fell on the floor with loud clangs, spilling hot wax on him and the floor.

"Ah fuck!" he screamed. Alva was awake in an instant, jumping up out of the coffin. She immediately saw him and lunged, knocking him to the ground, and flat on his back. She straddled his hips and drew her dagger, holding it right up against his throat. He was trapped.

"Well, well. Look who wandered in here, the handsome elf from the Inn. Come looking for me did you? I might be sleeping with Hroggar but I think I can spare some time for you." She purred.

"Get off me! Vampire bitch!" he growled. She pressed the dagger harder against his neck, just barely cutting the skin. Daedhrogon couldn't move, she had him in her grasp.

"Now that's not very nice, love. Is that how you speak to a woman? I think you need to be punished… Oh but look how handsome you are, it would be such a shame to scar that gorgeous face. Hmm, how about I make you my thrall instead of tearing your eyes out? That way I get to keep you! Oh, the _fun_ I can have with you as my pet." She purred into his ear. Her fangs were so very close, too close. He would be dead for sure, if she wasn't planning on keeping him like a slave. He had to do something.

"I think I would rather have you warming my bed instead of Hroggar, and I hear that elvish blood tastes so much sweeter than human blood. High Elves taste especially good, according to the others."

 _Nope! Not happening!_ He thought. He had to escape now! While she was focused on keeping him still, and running her hands sensually over his chest, he reached down to his boot, and pulled out the small, hidden blade. She was just about to take a bite out of him when his concealed dagger plunged between her fourth and fifth ribs, right into her undead heart.

Blood gushed out of the wound, and she collapsed dead on top of him. He shivered in disgust and pushed the woman's corpse off him, making sure that her head was turned away from him, just in case she was still alive and kicking. He didn't want those fangs sinking into his flesh when his back was turned. But even so, he didn't stick around, and quickly escaped from the house.

The poor innkeeper looked horrified as he wandered in covered in blood, again. But she helped him clean himself up quickly. He had to see the Jarl. Jarl Ravencrone rewarded him for discovering the truth about the fire, and the fact that there were a pair of vampires lurking around the village. Unfortunately, Daedhrogon was asked to find the master vampire in his lair and destroy him too. He almost broke down and howled with anguish, pleading with the Jarl not to go, but the promise of gold kept him quiet. Oh, how people had him wrapped around their little fingers if they flashed a bag of gold in his face. It was pathetic really… Absolutely pathetic.

At least he was able to keep blood off his already ruined armour this time. A well placed arrow in the Master vampire's head ended him, and his thralls fell just as easy. It was a close call though. The master vampire noticed him from his vantage point, and raced to attack him before the sheer number of arrows brought him down. Overall, it was less dramatic than the attacks by the female vampires.

Daedhrogon was rewarded for his services, which he immediately spent on health potions and a recipe page to make them, along with another room at the inn. The next day, he was off. Trekking through the marshes to the Nordic ruin of Ustengrav, past bandits, necromancers and Dragur.

Finally, after oh so long… he was within reach of his prize. He entered the innermost room of the ruin, down the steps and past the pools of water. In front of him lay a massive, elaborate stone chest, looking like it would be nearly impossible to open. He was so close… the horn should be right there.

But when he walked up to the chest, and the stone hand that should have held it, there was only a note. The horn had been _stolen!_

"God's damn it!" he screamed. In rage, he stormed around the room, kicking anything not of value against the wall and listening to the satisfying smash. "I take all this time to come out to this fucking shithole, and what I'm after _isn't even here_!"

A more powerful kick sent a discarded mace sailing through the air before it splashed into the water. "Ah, fuck me!" he yelled. Finally, he calmed down, and took a moment to read the note, left so mockingly in the depths of this smelly tomb.

 _Dragonborn-_

 _I need to speak to you urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood and I'll meet you._

 _-A friend._

Oh, he would meet with this _friend_ alright. And he would make them regret screwing with him, leaving that stupid note, in this stupid ruin, near a stupid town in the middle of nowhere. He would make them pay for all the shit that he had to deal with on the way here. And they owed him a new set of armour too!


End file.
